


advantageous divergence

by your typical rockstar (tamquamm)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, M/M, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Sexual Favors as Strategic Negotiation, happy trade deadline!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:11:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22849522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamquamm/pseuds/your%20typical%20rockstar
Summary: It’s easy to read executives, men in power.They all have something in common, and Kyle’s not really sure what that is, other than it usually means they’re up for putting the Wonder Kid on his knees and re-exerting their power or whatever.It works, so he doesn’t really question it.After all, Kyle Dubas will do whatever it takes.
Relationships: Kyle Dubas/Brendan Shanahan, Kyle Dubas/John Tavares, Kyle Dubas/OMC GM, Kyle Dubas/William Nylander
Comments: 17
Kudos: 77





	advantageous divergence

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a little dark so please heed the tags.  
  
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* * *

## JULY 2014

Admittedly, the invitation comes as a surprise. 

It isn’t every day that the president of an NHL organization calls you up out of the blue, wanting to meet you, just for a chat. Not that Kyle allows his emotions to show, handles it as smooth and calm and professional as ever, because years of just getting  _ here _ have easily taught him that, at least. 

Kyle doesn’t get ahead of himself, because he knows the scene, knows that it’s just a consultation at best. Perks of the O, he supposes, the opportunity to build rapport with the execs of the fucking Toronto Maple Leafs.

An opportunity to boast for his guys, to market them as top choice picks. Better for the reputation of the Soo, better for the legacy he and his family have so carefully built. It’s big, bigger than it seems, so if Shanahan wants to chat, Kyle knows he has to take full advantage of it. 

He has little time to prepare, but that has never once stopped Kyle in the past. No way it starts now.

~

Shanahan’s office is a lot more comfortable, cozy even, than Kyle had expected.

Not that it necessarily matters, because Kyle will make do with whatever he has to work with — he’s quite good at that. But it certainly helps, especially when Shanahan matches it, quick to make sure he’s properly settled in and welcomed. 

“Can I get you a drink?” Shanahan says, already pouring a sparkling water for himself. “Coffee? Tea? San Pellegrino?” 

Kyle politely refuses, but Shanahan ignores him, pours an identical second glass. Silently Kyle takes note of it, a subconscious power move, small enough that it lacks a deliberate meaning, but enough to tell Kyle more about Shanahan under the guise. 

Accordingly, he accepts the glass, crosses his legs, and holds it in a hand balanced on his knee.

“So,” Kyle starts, goes for tentative, “what can I do for you, Mr. Shanahan?”

“Please,” he grins, settling into the armchair across from Kyle’s, “call me Brendan.”

“Of course,” Kyle matches his smile, easy, practiced instinct. “I’d love to help out in any way I can, Brendan.”

“Perfect,” Brendan snaps into it, grabs a legal pad that’s already been half-scrawled on. Kyle can see the top, already labeled with the date and his name in block letters. The air shifts, then, with Brendan sincerely eager to pick at Kyle’s brain. “Let’s start with the development model, I have a few questions about a few of your forwards in particular.”

This is the easy part, answering Brendan’s questions about hockey, about his systems. It comes naturally, and Kyle will never turn down the opportunity to wax on about what he’s built. He’s proud of it, proud of his family’s legacy entwined with that of the Soo, proud of his own contributions in building it.

It’s always easy to talk hockey, because that’s all Kyle’s done his whole entire life. He really has worked hard to understand the game and conquer it, to make it his. And it’s nice having someone of significance recognize that. 

Say what you will about  _ some _ of the rungs on Kyle’s ladder of success, but most of them were carefully handcrafted and placed there himself, with his own accomplishments in hand, thanks. 

It goes so well, their back in forth, the raking of Kyle’s mind, that Kyle almost considers that this is enough as is. It’s a hundred percent clean and by the books and maybe that’s good, maybe that’s enough. 

By Brendan’s attitude, his body language, his  _ diction _ , every sign points to Kyle having made a good impression over the past few hours, through conversation alone. It’s not like it’s impossible, Kyle has worked very hard to fine-tune excellent people skills, people  _ strategy, _ even, so maybe it is enough.

Enough for his goals for this meeting. Establish rapport, leave a good, lasting impression. Give his club an edge, an in with a big team, enough to elevate their status in the league. Build the legacy, always build the legacy.

But then Brendan hits him with a whammy.

“You know,” Brendan says, sets down his notes, leans in just a bit. “I have an opening in the front office. Leafs AGM slash Marlies GM. Would that be something you’d like to explore?”

It takes Kyle by surprise, once again.

And all previous considerations of abandoning the plan are thrown right out the window.

~

Brendan keeps him on the edge, which is a footing that Kyle is not very fond of, but nothing he can’t handle, nothing he isn’t used to. So he lets Brendan keep the offensive, lets Brendan keep him dangling. Brendan has lunch delivered, asking Kyle what he’d like, just to go and order something else he thinks he’ll like instead. Another small gesture than Kyle keeps a running tab on. He doesn’t mind about the food, the observations are worth it enough. 

They’ll be crucial to his execution later on, Kyle knows. 

He indulges Brendan, lets them savor lunch. He’s been here for hours already, who cares how many more. He lets Brendan break out the whiskey, graciously accepts his glass on the rocks, sipping it at the most appropriate rate to match Brendan’s while still staying strategic. 

Lunch conversation is light, at least on the surface. Questions about Kyle’s personal life, little slip-ins about Brendan’s family and interests. Kyle knows better than to let his guard down, knows that it’s still a test in it of itself. He reveals only just enough to be satisfactory without giving away too much of his hand. He says the right things, the correct pleasantries, to prove he’s pleasant to work with, to attest to his character.

It’s a lot of work, a lot of buildup, when he’s willing to take a risk that can send it all tumbling down in one fell sweep. But Kyle is good at what he does,  _ smart _ about what he does, and he is certain that he’s read the ice correctly here. Certain that this is the correct play.

So he lets the personal conversation gradually migrate back to business. He gets comfortable, readies himself for more and more talk. It isn’t so bad, talking about the Maple Leafs, talking about what he could bring to them.

“I’ve heard they call it The Rising,” Brendan says, a glint in his eye. “What you’ve done for the Soo, I mean.” 

Kyle laughs, it isn’t a nickname that he came up with but it kind of stuck. “Yeah, not sure how that happened, but that’s what they call my success plan,” he says with a grin. 

“I like it, I like it,” Brendan hums an off-key melody resembling the song. “It fits.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” And Kyle can’t help but feel a little pride swell in his chest. 

“Would you be able to come up with something similar for us?” Brendan looks at him curiously, drums his fingers on the side table. “Another Rising?”

Kyle considers, thinks back on the plan he’d drafted up when he was twenty-six, still baby-faced and not entirely sure what he was doing at the time. But he remembers the conviction he’d felt when he’d presented to a board room where most of the suits remembered him as an eleven-year-old, much less a functioning adult. 

He remembers how much he’d believed in his work, remembers how much that translated throughout the room, remembers his own silent shock at a unanimous hiring decision, right there on the spot.

He didn’t even have to do anything out of the book for that one. That one was all him. That one was all because of his plans, because of the early drafts of The Rising. 

Kyle remembers drawing it up and believing in it, and when he thinks back on it, he’s sure he could do it again. A million times over if he had to. 

He levels Brendan with a look, confident but not cocky, a perfectly practiced balance, courtesy of years of experience. “Absolutely.”

~

They draft up a very, extremely preliminary grand plan of how Kyle Dubas would utilize what he knows and what he’s learned in order to fully optimize the Toronto Maple Leafs organization. 

Now  _ there’s _ something he’d never thought he’d walk in here and do today. 

It’s pretty crazy, actually, if he allows himself to think about it for a bit. But he doesn’t have much time to do that right now, doesn’t have a lot of room to accidentally think too much and slip up, so he lets himself realize it, just to get back to his carefully constructed business. 

It goes so well, and Brendan is so pleased, that once again, Kyle almost considers leaving it at that. Almost considers going by the books for this one. After all, it worked out for the Soo. He didn’t have to pull out the sinker for the Soo.

But this isn’t the Soo, and Kyle has spent the entire day quietly reconnoitering Brendan Shanahan in order to do this correctly, perfectly. Surely he has plenty of other candidates in mind, and a few lost hours with a junior hockey GM is hardly a loss for an organization of this caliber.

There is much more at stake for Kyle, so he sticks to his gut, sticks to his plan, and, eventually, goes for the kill.

He waits until the conversation starts to lull out of business again, once it starts to become light again. Brendan has refilled their whiskey, the mood is relaxed and perhaps even a little loose.

It’s time. 

Kyle doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t announce anything, doesn’t do anything except stand and walk to the door.

“Kyle?” Brendan hazards, but Kyle ignores him for now, in favor of flipping the lock on the door with a resounding click. Only then does he turn, only then does he look Brendan in the eye and cross the room back again, back to where Brendan’s seated in his armchair.

“Mr. Shanahan,” he says as he stops to stand in front of Brendan, who only looks at him curiously, without any other judgement or tell, “I can assure you that, given the opportunity, I am willing to do everything and anything for this organization.”

He sinks to his knees, then, never once breaking eye contact. The tension is palpable, now that his intention is clear. 

Brendan doesn’t move or say anything for a second, and it feels entirely too long. But Kyle refuses to break just yet, he will not waver under only assumptions. He’s worked too hard up to this moment and he refuses to give it up without a clear dismissal.

Then finally, Brendan looks him up and down, face still blank, until he settles back, seemingly satisfied. Only then, when sinking into the back of the chair, does a grin break across his face, smug, challenging. 

“I knew you were the right choice,” Brendan murmurs, but definitely pleased. He spreads his knees wider, makes room for Kyle. “Go on, then.”

Kyle, patiently awaiting the go ahead, does not need to be told twice.

Like hockey, this is the easy part. He doesn’t have to overthink this, doesn’t have to stay on his toes and calculate each and every act. This part is natural, and Kyle’s quick and nimble fingers only prove it.

Brendan sits back and watches him carefully, perfectly fine to enjoy the show for now. Perhaps he’s studying him, taking down his own mental notes to see what he can conclude about Kyle from how he executes this. But Kyle isn’t worried about his execution, not at all. Brendan can watch him all he likes, because in the end, this is Kyle’s show and he is an excellent performer.

He’s careful, deliberate, in how he pulls Brendan’s cock out. It’s mostly soft right now, but it’s not a problem. Not when Kyle automatically goes in to lick his hand, more utiliatrian than sexy, but quick and easy nonetheless. He palms at Brendan’s cock, watches it grow in his hand until he can get a proper grip to start stroking it, slow and steady. 

Brendan doesn’t give much away, save for one particularly full exhale. Kyle is determined to change that. This is just as much part of the interview as his grand plan draft up was. He knows that he aced that part, and he won’t let this be any different.

Taking the tip of Brendan’s cock into his mouth, Kyle takes his time, dips his tongue into the slit and swirls it just the right way. He keeps a steady stroke on the shaft with his wet hand, lets it get a little messy so he can swipe more of his own spit down with every pass. 

Eventually, he starts to take a little bit more, not quite bobbing his head yet, but steadily working up to it. He focuses on the feel of a cock in his mouth, focuses on how Brendan gets harder and harder with every move, every moment. 

Kyle makes it about halfway down when Brendan finally grunts, twitching in his mouth. Brendan doesn’t say anything, but he gets a hand on the back of Kyle’s head, fingers spread through his hair. Kyle makes an encouraging noise, not that Brendan was looking for one, but he does laugh, a little, not quite cruel but not so nice, either.

“Come on,” Brendan hums, more to himself than to Kyle, really. It does serve as somewhat of a warning, though, because Brendan goes for it then, pushes Kyle’s head down and down and down and holds him there. 

Kyle didn’t necessarily expect it, but he’s well-practiced enough to take it like a champ, quickly managing to relax his throat and curb his gag reflex. He tries to stay as still as possible, closes his eyes and focuses on the cock down his throat. 

“There we go,” Brendan sighs, finally letting him up a little. It isn’t much of a break because he’s shoving him right back down. He doesn’t hold him this time, brings him right back up and gets a rhythm going.

Kyle adjusts quickly, dutifully takes it as best as he can. He gets a hand up to go at Brendan’s balls, just because he can. Brendan doesn’t stop him, so Kyle keeps it up, all while getting his face fucked. 

“Swallow it,” is all Brendan says instead of a proper warning. Kyle gets maybe half a second before Brendan’s positioned him on the tip, his own hand pumping his shaft as he comes, hot in Kyle’s mouth. 

Kyle could probably jerk away, could probably pull out of Brendan’s grip and avoid having to swallow, but he doesn’t. He stays right there, sucks hard while he can and then directs all his focus to swallowing. The timing is crucial, lest he’d like it to spill out of his mouth, and that’s really not an option what with the impression he’s trying to leave here.

“Wow,” Brendan says, breathy, once he’s let go of Kyle’s head and pulling his softening dick out of his mouth. “Not bad, kid.”

Kyle wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thanks,” he says, tries his best not to react to the roughness of his voice. “Happy to demonstrate my full skillset.”

Brendan scoffs at that. He tucks himself back into his pants and stands, holds a hand out to help Kyle to his feet. He grabs his glass from earlier and pushes it into Kyle's hands. “Drink.”

Kyle does, but he gives Brendan a calculated look over the rim of the glass while he does. Brendan watches his throat as he swallows, and it feels strangely more intimate than their actions just moments before. 

“Listen,” Brendan takes the glass from Kyle once it’s been drained. “I want your brain on my team. Would you be able to start as soon as possible?”

Kyle allows himself to smile, just a little. But he shrugs, apologetic. “We’ll have to sort it out with the Soo, but I think we can make it work.”

“Not a problem, I can work that out with them,” Brendan breaks into a full grin then, looks Kyle up and down. He holds out his hand. “I look forward to having you around.”

Kyle takes it, shakes firm enough.

* * *

## APRIL 2018

The Leafs get bounced in the first round, and then suddenly everything, all chaos, is set into motion. 

It’s like the entire organization had been holding its breath, holding out for the chance, and that final game seven buzzer was the kick that knocked the air out of ‘em, forced them to gasp for air and start sprinting right back into it. 

There’s a lot happening, a lot of moving pieces, so Kyle knows something’s up when Brendan catches him in the elevator and asks him to stop by at the end of the day. 

He has an idea of what it might be about.

Brendan’s already waiting for him when he comes by, opens the door for him before he can knock. “Hey, thanks for coming.”

“Yeah, of course,” Kyle hovers by the door, watches Brendan close it and then wander over to the dry bar. He busies himself with pouring a pair of drinks, doesn’t even bother to ask Kyle his preference, goes straight for the one he likes. 

Kyle doesn’t move, leans against the door while he watches him. He reaches behind himself and flips the lock behind his back. 

Brendan hands one drink to Kyle and takes a long sip of his own. His glass is still half full, but he sets it down on the bar, an air of definity. “As you know, Lou’s contract is up.”

“Sure,” Kyle takes a small sip. “We’ve discussed this briefly before.”

“I just wanted to check in with you about a few things,” Brendan says, almost too obviously holding something back. “We’re going to have to make a decision soon.”

Kyle tries to get a read here. “I hope you’ve considered my candidacy in a little more depth,” he settles on, neutral. 

Brendan looks away, conveniently focused on the stack of file folders on his desk. Kyle knows what’s in them, even if they look the same as all the other files kept at MLSE. He remembers dropping his off, weeks ago. 

Still not looking at him, Brendan swallows. “It’s complicated. You’re a great candidate, but we have other great candidates—”

“Don’t make it complicated.” Kyle pushes off from the door then, takes a couple steps until he’s near the desk. He shrugs off his coat, throws it over the back of the chair he usually sits in. Brendan finally meets his eyes and Kyle gives him a look. 

He takes the next few strides in full confidence. Doesn’t stop until he’s pushing Brendan against the wall, presses his front against him to keep him there. Brendan doesn’t fight him, just watches him, poker face on. 

Kyle kisses him, perfunctory, just to have something to do with his mouth, really. After a minute, he pulls back, just for a second, to reiterate his point. “Don’t make it complicated. It’s simple.” Brendan, to his credit, barely even flinches when Kyle grabs at his crotch and palms at his dick, zero hesitation.

He does, however, relax into it, lets his head go back and closes his eyes, not that interested in looking Kyle in the eye like this. Right now, anyway. He spreads his legs, encouraging. 

“Really simple,” Kyle hums, maybe just a little smug. He picks up the pace as Brendan grows hard under his hand.

“Brat,” Brendan groans, and then suddenly he’s grabbing Kyle by the arms and pushing him off. He doesn’t let go, though, walks Kyle to his desk and kicks the chair out of the way. Kyle goes easy, but not without a cheeky little grin, just to push Brendan’s buttons.

“Down,” is all the warning Brendan gives before turning Kyle around and shoving him over the desk in one efficient move. 

“Oof.” Kyle lets himself be bent over the desk, mindful of the dig of the edge on his hips. He listens to Brendan deal with his belt, the zipper of his pants. Helpfully, he gets started on his own, conveniently gets the zipper down just when Brendan starts to tug his slacks down. 

His briefs come down at the same time, and he is perhaps a little triumphant when he hears Brendan curse under his breath when he realizes.

“Fuck,” Brendan says, mesmerized. At the same time, he swipes a finger over Kyle’s hole, just barely dipping inside where he’s loose. It’s still a little slick from the lube that’s managed to leak out of him since he prepped earlier. Kyle focuses on keeping his breathing steady.

It’s short-lived, because Brendan laughs, and then there’s three fingers at his entrance all at once. Kyle had used four, but it’s still a little overwhelming to go straight to three from nothing. 

“Wow,” Brendan says, low and just this side of cruel, “you’re such a fucking slut.” Kyle doesn’t take it personally, he knows what’s he done, what he’s doing. Knows what he wants in the end, so he bites his tongue and focuses on that instead. He can mouth off to Brendan all he wants  _ after _ he’s GM. 

It’s quick, the way Brendan stretches him open. Or rather, double-checks that he’s properly stretched. When he removes his fingers, Kyle spreads his legs a little more, gives him more room to work with. 

He’s patient, waits while Brendan goes through the false-bottom drawer in his desk, waits while he rolls a condom on and lubes himself up. Kyle stays perfectly still and doesn’t snark a single word. Best behavior. 

Finally, Kyle feels a hand at his hip, grip firm. Then the pressure of Brendan’s dick at his entrance. He doesn’t quite push in, not yet. “Ready?” Brendan offers. He doesn’t have to, not after knowing Kyle and his tells for this long, but Kyle appreciates it, nonetheless. Not for any kindness in it, but as an indicator that his game plan for GM is working. 

“Do it,” Kyle grits out.

That’s all Brendan needs. He slides all the way in, moderately paced, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t stutter. He pushes in and in and in until he’s all the way, balls pressed against the curve of Kyle’s ass.

Kyle swallows, stifling any noises that threaten to escape his lips. It’s not necessarily uncomfortable, just a lot at once. Brendan stays there though, waits for him to relax, so Kyle does his best to adjust as quickly as possible.

“Go ahead,” Kyle exhales after a minute. He’s not completely there, but that’s fine, he likes it better that way, likes to feel it, anyway. 

Brendan takes the cue, pulls back just to drive back in. He isn’t nice with it, goes hard right from the start. He drives in over and over and over again, each thrust shoving Kyle against the desk. He’s going to have bruises where the edge digs into his skin, but that’s alright, they’ll fade eventually. 

“Yeah,” Brendan groans, one hand tracing up Kyle’s spine and landing at the back of his neck, pinning him in place so he can fuck into him proper. “Take it.”

Kyle moans, not much of a reply but as much as he’s going to give. Brendan doesn’t really have much of a rhythm, but the pace is there, the force, too. Consistent. Kyle manages to wedge a hand under himself, manages to get a grip on his own cock, half-hard and leaking over the surface of the desk. 

Brendan scoffs when he notices, but he doesn’t tell him to stop, and he doesn’t pause either. “See? You love this, I know you do.”

“Come on,” Kyle deflects.

Brendan tuts, amused. He thrusts in particularly hard, pushes Kyle into the desk and gives his neck a squeeze. “Slut,” he says, nearly fond. 

Kyle doesn’t get hung up about it. He closes his eyes, tunes out all the unnecessary stuff and just focuses on the feeling. The drag of cock inside of him, the sparks when Brendan grazes his spot. The pressure he keeps around his own cock, the dry slide of his hand on his hot skin.

“You gonna come?” Brendan keeps egging him on. 

Kyle ignores him in favor of speeding up his hand, grip consistently tight now with the end in sight. Brendan lets go of his neck, brushes his hand up through Kyle’s hair, just to shove his head down abruptly. He lets him back up just as quickly, and then he’s got both hands on Kyle’s hips instead. 

His fingers dig into Kyle’s skin, sure to leave even more bruises. He uses his new grip as leverage, pulls Kyle’s ass back onto his cock every time he shoves in. The slap of skin is melodic, almost, as Brendan drives into him.

“Fuck,” Kyle groans, face buried into the desk. Brendan accidentally hits his spot dead on, and that’s all Kyle needs to be taken over the edge at this point. He pumps himself through it, fixates on the feeling of Brendan inside him — every movement, every ounce of friction — as he comes and comes, riding out the bliss.

Brendan doesn’t let up, though, fucks him right through it and then some. He’s determined, hips grinding frantically into Kyle, who’s practically jelly pinned to the table by now.

“Fuck me,” Kyle murmurs into the table, barely audible. He’s not even sure if Brendan hears it at first. But then he feels Brendan’s hips stutter, hears Brendan curse. He shoves all the way in and grinds into Kyle through his orgasm, spilling into the condom.

Kyle grins, satisfied. Always works. 

**~**

“So?” Kyle says when he returns from cleaning himself up, paper towel in hand and still wiping over his face. He balls it up and tosses it into the trashcan halfway across the room. Only then does he settle in the seat across Brendan’s desk.

“Look Kyle,” Brendan sighs, “you know I believe in you. I really think you could do something big with the Leafs,” he pauses, conflicted, and Kyle holds his breath, “but Mark has more of the resume, you know that.”

Admittedly a little offended, given recent events, Kyle still had been expecting as much. He’s ready for it. “I will take this team to a Stanley Cup,” he says, fervent, “you know I’m capable of it and you know that I will.”

“I do,” Brendan sighs, steeples his hands under his chin. “But I have to be pragmatic here, you know that.”

Kyle adjusts his glasses, pushes them up his nose where they’ve slipped. “You know that I am the best fit for the future of this team. I know you know that.” He takes a breath. “The  _ pragmatic _ choice is to let me take this team to the next level.”

Brendan makes an apologetic choice. “I know, and that’s why I wanted to have this discussion. I would hope to have you stay with the organization regardless of the General Manager position.” 

It takes Kyle a second to fully process what exactly Brendan is implying. Not because he doesn’t get it, but instead to make sure he heard correctly. 

“Brendan,” Kyle finally says, tone nearly admonishing. “Are you seriously asking me right now if—”

“No,” Brendan cuts him off quickly, and to his credit, he really does look a little sheepish. “I just want you to know that your value to the club is crucial.”

Kyle sighs, makes a face. “I’m going to be honest with you,” he says, careful. “I will give 100% of myself to this organization, I will give it every single piece of me,” he looks Brendan in the eye, loaded. “Everything,” he reiterates, hard. “But I need the organization to be all-in on me, too.”

He lets his words hang there, watches Brendan mull it over as the implication sinks in. 

Finally Brendan breaks, but he goes in at a different angle. “I can’t just let you be the General Manager of the Toronto Maple Leafs because you’re a good lay.”

Kyle scoffs then, mildly annoyed but not discouraged. He crosses his leg over the other, haughty. “But you can make me the General Manager because I’m the best for the job,” he shrugs a bit, considering, “ _ and _ because I just happen to be a good lay, too.”

“Kyle.”

“How’s that for a resume?” He levels Brendan with a look. But then he changes gears, sits back up and reaches for his laptop. “I can prove it to you,” he says while he starts pulling up documents, “the first part, I mean.”

“I’m already pretty familiar with your work—”

“My previous work,” Kyle is quick to correct him. “I have some projections to show you for next season. Targets for the summer, strategy plans.”

“I’ve seen the ones you’ve submitted,” Brendan insists. 

“But you haven’t seen these,” Kyle tuts. He turns the laptop then, so Brendan can see the dashboard he’s loaded on the screen. “You haven’t seen the complete picture.”

Brendan hums, amused, but he indulges him, clicks through Kyle’s set up. “A grand plan?” He muses. 

Kyle shrugs. “You could call it that, call it whatever you want.” He sits back and watches Brendan inspect his work. “I just call it the best that the Maple Leafs can be.”

“Send me this.” Brendan says after some time poking around. He pushes the laptop back toward Kyle and settles back into his chair. “I’ll take a look and we’ll revisit this.”

“Of course, sir,” Kyle grins.

  
  


* * *

## JUNE 2018

The issue with John Tavares is that an offering of Kyle’s, er,  _ specialty, _ could completely backfire and dissolve everything they’ve built so far. It’s easy to read executives, men in power. They all have something in common, and Kyle’s not really sure what that is, other than it usually means they’re up for putting the Wonder Kid on his knees and re-exerting their power or whatever. 

It works, so Kyle doesn’t really question it. 

But John Tavares isn’t an executive, he isn’t the type to snort power like cocaine. This is a very delicate read, and although Kyle is absolutely confident in his ability to read people, he’ll be devastated if he fucks this one up.

They’re so close, so fucking close. John loved the videos from the team, completely ate them up. He doesn’t even hide how swept away he is by Mitch, and honestly Kyle can’t blame him. Mitch had put a lot of work into that video, and Kyle is both grateful and proud. 

Which puts even more at stake here. It’s not just Kyle’s efforts that have gone into this, it’s his whole team, his whole staff. And if Kyle fucks all of that hard work up because he’s too stupid to realize when to reign in the whoring? He’d never forgive himself. 

But here they are in Kyle’s new office. John’s comfortable on the couch, a half-full bottle of water next to him on the side table. Kyle is across from him in one of the armchairs, legs crossed but relaxed. His glasses are folded neatly on his own side table.

“I just want to reassure you that the Toronto Maple Leafs organization will go any and every length to make sure you have everything you need,” Kyle says sincerely. He leans in a little then, tips his chin down when he looks John in the eye. His voice goes a little lower, the tone shifts. “And I mean everything. There is  _ nothing _ that we cannot provide you.”

It’s bait as any, and Kyle watches closely to see how John responds. Watches his body language, listens for his tone. Watches his diction. It doesn’t really matter what he says on the surface, but how and why he says it, that will ultimately tell Kyle how to proceed here. 

John looks at him carefully, thoughtfully. Kyle can respect that. He doesn’t try to insinuate anything else, keeps his face as neutral as he can while continuing to be inviting. Trustworthy. 

Cautious, tentative, but absolutely still intrigued, John hums. “Everything?”

“Absolutely,” Kyle says, doing everything he can to hide the excitement from his voice. Bait taken, swallowed completely whole. “You name it, I will personally provide it,” Kyle pauses there, deliberate, and licks his lips. 

“Ah,” John relaxes further into the couch, his knees fall apart just a little more. “I think I understand.” And he grins then, full on, cocky and sure. 

“Would you,” Kyle has to pause to clear his throat, voice hoarse, “Would you like a preview?”

John stares at Kyle’s lips, doesn’t try to hide it. His hand goes to his crotch, lazily palms at his dick. There are no more discrepancies, and Kyle knows the deal is sealed. 

“That’s very generous,” John says, low, now that the intent is clear. “I’d like that very much.”

“Perfect,” Kyle stands, loosens his tie. “How would you like me?”

John grins.

~

John signs the next day, once the papers go through his agent and all the other appropriate channels. 

“How’d you do it?” is the question of every reporter, every other GM, and apparently everyone and their grandfather on Twitter. Kyle has a well-practiced media answer, carefully prepared. It’s all true of course, he thanks the efforts of the team campaign, even shares the detail of the player videos. 

It’s enough to reinforce how carefully the Toronto Maple Leafs organization, under Kyle Dubas, emphasizes a personal relationship with its personnel. It’s enough to keep the media entertained without much further question. 

Kyle just happens to omit the final touches, his own  _ personal _ contribution. And that’s totally fine by him.

“‘How Did The Boy Wonder Do It,’” Brendan laughs, reads the headline out loud and shows it to Kyle on his phone. He leans in closer, goes to a whisper, “I know exactly how you did it.”

Kyle doesn’t blush, but he doesn’t roll his eyes either. 

“Thank you, Brendan,” he says with his own laugh, however fake it sounds, he doesn’t care, “I appreciate your acknowledgement of how much I give to this organization.”

“How much you give for your own career,” Brendan corrects him, but when Kyle opens his mouth to protest, he stops him. “Hey, hey, you know it’s true. And as long as it benefits my team as a byproduct, I won’t complain.”

Kyle shrugs. That’s fair, he supposes, but his career is this team, there isn’t much else to upgrade from here. Brendan knows that.

To his credit, Brendan does try to backtrack a little. “Alright, no need for the long face, I didn’t mean to call you out,” he says.

Brendan bumps their shoulders together. When Kyle doesn’t immediately respond to that, he gets a hand on the back of his neck and squeezes gently. Kyle’s first instinct is to shrug him off, but he relaxes into it.

“Seriously,” Brendan says, voice quieter now, his hand retreating back to his side. “Congratulations on Tavares. I’m proud of you.”

Kyle takes the praise, lets himself feel the prideful warmth spread from his chest. 

~

Landing Tavares is only the beginning. There’s a lot of work to do in order to get a playable roster ready by training camp, and that means hosting some less-than-favorite guests in his barely broken-in new office. 

Steve Tremblay was nice enough to let him know that he’d be in town for a few other meetings. Which means he wants something from the Leafs. 

Kyle did his prepwork since the call. He figures that the Thrashers need a decent winger to fill the spot next to Jackson, recently vacated in free agency. And, more importantly, they’re having cap issues with a surplus of defensemen. It’s a perfect scenario, and it should be easy to get a deal done that benefits both Atlanta and Toronto. 

Keyword:  _ should _ .

Kyle paces around his office, as subtle as possible, but still noticeable nonetheless. He’s been working Tremblay for nearly two hours now, and he’d really prefer to get this done before five so he can make it home in time to watch the Jays game. 

“Come on, what can I throw in for you?” Kyle presses, “under the table, I can get it for you.”

Tremblay scoffs. “What strings could you possibly have that I don’t?”

“Anything you want, I can have it done,” Kyle shrugs, as nonchalant as he can. He prefers to avoid outright saying it, but Tremblay isn’t the brightest guy in the league. Which honestly, makes it even more frustrating that he won’t budge  _ without _ Kyle’s secret weapon.

“I like Smith, I do, he’d fit that winger spot for us,” Tremblay says, sips at the whiskey Kyle’d poured him a while ago. “But I just don’t want to give up Ridor.”

“But you’re good with the second rounder and Harrington?” Kyle confirms. Fuck he’s so close, he can feel it. Somehow, Kyle manages to keep his cool. 

“Sure,” Tremblay shrugs, like it’s absolutely nothing and not the current bane of Kyle’s existence. 

Kyle swallows, composes himself. “Steve, you know I can’t give you Smith without getting another winger to fill out the roster.”

“And I know that you need Harrington on your D more than you need to fill your roster with Ridor,” Tremblay shoots right back.

Jesus christ, this is dragging out way too long. Atlanta needs a winger to balance their top line a lot more than Kyle needs defense from them. There are plenty of defensemen around the league that he can coerce out of GMs who are a lot less stupid than Steve Tremblay. Ridor is this close to a bust in Atlanta, an NHL fourth liner at best, and Tremblay’s refusal to cough him up is just flat out ridiculous at this point. Kyle wishes he could just say that, instead of what he has to say next.

“Listen,” Kyle manages to cross the room, until he’s face to face with Tremblay. “I will  _ personally, _ ” he emphasizes, licks his lips and deliberately glances at Tremblay’s crotch, couldn’t be any fucking clearer, “do whatever it takes to get this deal done.”

Tremblay gives him a look, neutral, studies his face. Kyle blinks at him as casually as he can. It’s taking everything in him to be patient while Tremblay’s ancient brain processes his proposition. If he doesn’t get it now, Kyle swears, he’s kicking him out and calling up Sakic. 

“Well then,” Tremblay breaks into a stupid little smirk, and it takes everything in Kyle not to roll his eyes. At least he finally got the message. Sorry, Joe. 

Tremblay looks him up and down, considering. “I think we can maybe get something worked out, depending on your,” he pauses, clearly just for the effect, “ _ skills. _ ”

Kyle bites back all of the comments that come to mind, instead paints on his prettiest smile. The only thing fueling him now is that if he’s efficient, he’ll still get to watch most of the Jays game. 

So with that in mind, Kyle gestures toward the couch set up at the far side of his office. They’d just brought it in last month, just in time to get meetings started. The throw pillows are brand new, added last week for the footage of Tavares in here for the Leafs Blueprint video. “Please,” he says, as delightfully as he can manage without giving away how fake it is. “Make yourself comfortable.”

And Tremblay definitely does, settles into Kyle’s couch like it’s the one in his own living room. Kyle wonders how this guy even managed to get his job with such a lack of tact, he wonders how strong the nepotism was for this one. Probably very. 

“Well?” Tremblay says, pushy, and Kyle resists the urge to snap at him. He’s already got his belt undone, pulling his cock out. “You want Ridor or not?”

Kyle takes one look at his dick and is incredibly proud of himself for succeeding in hiding all reactions, especially of the straight up laughing variety. Instead, he goes to his knees, looks up and smiles nicely. The way that Brendan likes. In fact, likes so much that it usually gets him to skip the lead up and go straight to facefucking him.

Look, there’s a Jays game, remember? Every second counts. 

He gets to work, and Tremblay unravels easily enough under him. Just like they always do. 

“You keep that up and shit, you might even be able to get Jackson out of me,” Tremblay laughs, raucous and obnoxious while he holds Kyle’s head down. Kyle can’t voice his commentary, but he sure as hell can think it. And honestly, he doesn’t doubt that he could. But today’s priority is just Ridor, he won’t be greedy. That’s bad karma, and Kyle’s trying to save up on that. He figures he’s probably gonna need it down the line. After all, this is just the beginning of the rest of his career. 

“Yeah, you can have Ridor,” Tremblay croons when Kyle can tell he’s close and swizzles his tongue at the underside of his dick. It’s almost laughable, how readily these guys give it up for him once he’s got their dicks down his throat. It’s almost too easy, but Kyle won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. 

It’s not too much longer after that, until his job is done and Tremblay’s happily signing the paperwork, cracking jokes that Kyle barely pays attention to. He busily tidies up, straightens himself up while he waits. He’s usually pretty good at talking, even to the least worthy conversationalists, but Tremblay is really pushing it. Besides, it doesn’t really matter, the deed is already done and Kyle’s exhausted in general, let alone tired of Tremblay’s sandpaper of a personality.

Kyle can’t be too upset, though. He leaves that day with Ridor on his roster and enough time to make it home for the Jays game. 

* * *

## OCTOBER 2018

Kyle knows he’s in deep shit when Brendan taps him on the shoulder and requests a private meeting in his office. 

They’ve just gotten off a conference call with Lewis Gross and they’ve made absolutely no progress, maybe even lost progress, not that Kyle would care to admit, especially not in front of Brendan. 

He’s exhausted. It tends to happen, when you’ve spent a couple of hours trying to be as professional as possible when all you want to do is yell and argue. It’s an art, holding it all in while the tension just grows thicker and thicker. 

So when Brendan pulls him into his office and locks the door behind him, Kyle is this close to just losing his shit all at once, right then and there. 

But Brendan beats him to it.

“This cannot go on,” he says, slamming his notepad onto his desk, makes sure it  _ thuds, _ loud, for the effect. 

“Clearly,” Kyle says through his teeth. He crosses his arms, leans back against the door, doesn’t dare to take one step closer unless he has to. 

Which. “Come here,” Brendan orders him, settling into his desk chair. He pushes it back, spreads his knees, a clear prompt. 

Kyle swallows. He’s still pretty heated, and he briefly considers telling Brendan off and turning right around. But that thought dies just as fast as it had come, encouraged by the antsy feeling throughout his body, leftover from his previous anger. Alright, if that’s how they need to cool down, so be it.

So Kyle doesn’t protest, marches right across the room with his chin held high. He scoots between Brendan and the desk and sinks to his knees like a pro, knows his place and takes it. 

Brendan doesn’t waste any time, gets right to it. He hastily tugs his belt undone, pops the button on his slacks, doesn’t wait for Kyle to do it. His cock is out just as fast as Kyle had gotten on his knees, already half hard and practically staring back at Kyle, expectant.

Kyle starts to reach for it, but Brendan swats him away. “Hands behind your back.” And, well, usually Kyle would object to being pushed around like that, but okay, it kind of does something to quell the restlessness that won’t go away. So what if he goes along with Brendan’s temper tantrum, no one’s here to judge him.

Besides, there’s a lot more to judge than letting himself be bossed around by, well, his boss.

Brendan watches as he reaches back, grips one wrist with the other hand. He’s absently palming at his dick, helping it along to get it ready for whatever it is he wants from Kyle.

Kyle doesn’t have to wait long to figure that out, because Brendan uses the same hand to grab a fistful of Kyle’s hair, cupping the back of his head. Kyle flinches when he feels the wetness on his scalp, Brendan’s precome sticking to his hair. 

He starts to protest, “Hey, come on—”

But Brendan isn’t having it, he slaps his dick against Kyle’s cheek, wet and loud and kind of disgusting. Kyle hadn’t seen it coming and any other words die in his mouth while he tries to process what just happened. 

“Just,” Brendan sighs, exasperated, “just shut  _ up _ , okay? Just shut up.”

Alright,  _ rude _ firstly, but fine. Kyle can shut up and take it, he’s plenty good at that. So he looks up at Brendan through his lashes, innocuous enough, but he and Brendan both know exactly what he’s doing. 

“For Christ’s sake,” Brendan swears. 

That seems to be his breaking point, because he finally tugs Kyle by his hair, face to face with his cock. Kyle knows a silent command when he’s faced with one, so he dutifully obeys, takes it into his mouth. 

Brendan’s cock is familiar enough on his tongue by now. He knows what Brendan likes, what pushes his buttons, what does it for him. So he goes into overdrive, pushes back against Brendan’s hand in his hair so he can stay working at the tip, swirling his tongue over the top, suckling hard and fast.

Predictably, Brendan loses himself in it, at least for a bit. He groans when Kyle does something particularly dirty, the hand in Kyle’s hair not as forceful but tightening and loosening in time with each trick.

But Brendan seems to remember his mission, whatever it was, and suddenly the hand is heavy again, tightening painfully as it twists in Kyle’s hair. Brendan yanks his head back, grabs his chin, hard, with his other hand.

“Enough of that,” he says, stern. “I’m stil pissed off so I’m going to fuck your mouth and you’re just going to have to sit there and take it. None of that fancy shit, it’s not going to redeem you.” He glares down at Kyle, searching his face for any signs of defiance. “Got it?”

Well, Kyle knows Brendan well enough by now, it’s only fair that Brendan knows him — and all of his tricks — just as well.

“Got it,” Kyle rolls his eyes. 

“Fucking brat,” Brendan groans, hand already on his dick and guiding it to Kyle’s mouth. 

Despite it, Kyle opens up as best he can, tries his best not to fight it when Brendan shoves it as far as he can. It takes an extreme effort to control his natural gag reflex when Brendan’s coming in cold, but Kyle thinks he’s honed in on his craft enough to be more than passable by now.

He closes his eyes, focuses on keeping his throat open, focuses on the rhythm of his breathing. It’s easy to forget all of his anger and all of the tension when he has to redirect every ounce of spare energy into, well, simply not choking. 

After a while, Kyle somehow loses himself in it. Tunes out whatever the hell Brendan grumbles at him, doesn’t think too hard about anything. It’s a rare thing, being able to tune out and  _ not think _ , for him anyway. But when he does, it’s kind of nice just to relax into it, savor it. He loses track of time, loses track of space. Just clears his head and takes it. 

Eventually, Brendan’s grip in his hair tightens, his rhythm falters. It’s enough to snap Kyle out of it just a little, just as much as he needs to prepare himself for the next part. Brendan won’t warn him, he knows that, so he steels himself and braces for the inevitable. 

Brendan grunts, pushes Kyle’s head down while he comes. He rolls his hips into it while he rides out his orgasm, much to Kyle’s discomfort. It’s nothing he can’t handle but it’s a lot to keep up with when he’d been so abruptly yanked out of his bliss. 

Because Brendan isn’t exactly  _ mindful, _ it’s messier than they usually are. Kyle manages to swallow down most of it, but some of it dribbles down his chin. When Brendan finally pulls out, it smears even more of a mess over Kyle’s lips. He frowns, but doesn’t bother putting up a fuss right now. Brendan isn’t really paying him much mind, busy tucking himself away. 

Kyle wipes his mouth off with the back of hand, although he’s certain that it doesn’t really help hide much of the evidence on his face. He’s ought to look like a complete mess, but whatever, better than letting the come dry on his skin. He hates the way that feels.

Brendan tucks himself back into his pants, but he watches as Kyle gets up, a little wobbly from the strain on his knees. He briefly acknowledges the bulge in Kyle’s pants but doesn’t do anything for it. That’s fine, Kyle doesn’t expect him to. 

“You look like you just got your face fucked,” Brendan says helpfully. There isn’t heat, not anymore, but Kyle’s not really in the mood for whatever kind of humor he’s trying to go for. Brendan must sense that when he doesn’t really reply, fixated on trying to comb his hair back down with his fingers. 

“Listen,” Brendan says in a sigh, almost placating but not quite. “Just fucking fix it, okay? I don’t care how. Just fix it.”

Kyle swallows, gives up on his hair. 

“Fine.”

~

Despite the theatrics, William is the easiest problem to solve. The theory of it, anyway. There isn’t a whole lot to plan, it’s pretty straightforward. 

Kyle’s known William since he was first drafted, has gotten to know him pretty well in all the time since. He’s held William’s hand through some tough spots, sat him down for more one-on-one pep talks than the kid would probably ever admit. 

He’s known William since he was eighteen, through some of his most formative years. He knows William well enough to know his hopes and dreams, his wants out of life. Well enough to know his greatest fears and insecurities, the things that worry him, eat at him.

His bending points. 

Leverage.

William’s a genuinely good kid, Kyle admittedly feels a little bad. Just a little, though. Because despite how good of a kid William is, this contract is a fuck of a headache and Kyle is starting to get desperate— no wait, desperate isn’t quite right, because Kyle refuses to accept that he’s at a disadvantage. Not quite desperate, just forced to get creative.

He decides it’s William’s own fault, anyway. Anyone could spot his puppy crush from a mile away. He should know better than to let it show. It’s the kid’s own undoing. 

That’s what Kyle tells himself, anyway. And maybe if he thinks it enough, he’ll feel better eventually. He hopes so.

See, working William is different than everything he’s done before. While he’s sucked plenty of dick to get what he wants, it’s always been transactional. No nonsense, no beating around the bush. Kyle gets on his knees and in return, he’s given whatever it is he wants that time around. Easy.

But working William won’t be a transaction. It’s a whole plot, an entire ruse. This time is different, this time is wrong by all accounts. There will be no argument in Kyle’s favor once he goes through with this one.

So please forgive him if he feels a little awful when he sees William, genuinely-a-good-kid-William, for the first time in months, just to deliberately check him out and tell him he looks good. Forgive him if he feels a little awful when William’s face lights up and his entire demeanor toward Kyle shifts right then, exactly like he’d predicted. 

It’s got to feel awful, when William doesn’t realize he’s entering this transaction. Doesn’t realize the scam for what it is. 

But Kyle can hear Brendan’s voice in his head, a replay of  _ “just fucking fix it” _ echoing in his head. He has a job to do, and Kyle has never half-assed a job in his life. He’s barely one step in, but it’s already enough to be in too deep. 

This isn’t about him, so it doesn’t matter if he feels awful. He’ll just have to push through it.

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” William tells him, eyes on his feet and hands shoved into his pockets. It’s just the two of them, no agents, no dads, no notetakers or assistants. They’re in a park on the edge of Zurich, wandering around the walkways, no particular destination or path in mind. 

Kyle thought it might feel romantic. He thinks it might be working. 

“I didn’t have to,” Kyle hums, “but I wanted to. I wanted to check in with you, make sure you’re doing okay.”

William is still looking down, but Kyle doesn’t miss the smile that leaks across his face, just briefly, before he remembers himself and puts his poker face back on.

“I don’t think GM’s do that, usually,” William says. It’s a thinly veiled prompt, but neutral enough for Kyle to ignore it if he wanted to. It’s clever, and Kyle appreciates that about William. 

“Probably not,” Kyle agrees, “but I’m not here because it’s part of my job.” The lie comes too easy and Kyle’s stomach twists. “I’m here because I personally wanted to check in with you. Because I care,” Kyle stops walking, waits until William looks at him, every single emotion clear on his face. He looks him in the eye, tries not to read too much, not yet. “I care about  _ you. _ ”

And there it is, the killshot. Kyle holds his breath, and he figures William might read it for confessional, vulnerable. The complete opposite of his true intentions. 

William swallows visibly, fidgets with something in his pocket. He hasn’t looked away, though, and that’s enough to assure Kyle that he still has him.

“Kyle,” William starts, tentative. But Kyle smiles, just a little, soft around the edges, just to keep him there. Gives him that last push he needs to walk right into the trap.

William starts again. “You know, right?” His cheeks are pink, he starts to bite at his lip without realizing. “You know that I, like,” he stops in a huff, tripping on his words. “ _ Like _ you, right?”

Kyle does his best to go just a little wide-eyed. Does his best to look at least a  _ little _ surprised, even despite the victory celly going on in his head. Exactly according to plan. 

He takes a deep breath, quickly looks around the park to make sure no one is around. Then, working fast, he slips his hand into William’s pocket, the one closest to him. William startles, but doesn’t pull away, leans into it even. Kyle entwines their fingers, then gives William’s hand a squeeze. 

“I hoped you did,” Kyle says, lays the sweetness on thick as he can, the way he knows William craves, absolutely melts for. “I like you, too.”

William doesn’t stare at his feet again once for the rest of their walk. 

~

Actually  _ fucking _ William is easier than any other part of the plan, and maybe even easier than any of the other times Kyle’s offered up his body. It’s easy to play along, to romanticize it, to make it good for William, who so eagerly wants to make it good for him. Wants to be good for him. 

That’s certainly different than what Kyle’s used to. It’s always strategic, each transaction. Kyle’s target of the day gets the best sex of their life while Kyle gets his way. His own pleasure is never part of it, never part of balancing the equation. 

But with William, it matters just as much as every other part of the plan. 

So maybe Kyle allows himself to indulge in it while he can.

It’s easy to get William up to his hotel room, even easier to press him against the door and kiss him until they’re both panting, matching erections pressed into each others’ thighs. 

He grabs William by the wrists and leads him to the bed. Kyle sits at the end, and William doesn’t need prompting, slides easily into Kyle’s lap, straddling his thighs. Kyle lets William kiss him the way he likes, lets him hold his face and suck at his lip while he grinds down on him.

William leaves a trail of kisses along Kyle’s jaw, follows it to his ear and nips at his earlobe. “I want you inside of me,” he murmurs, low and wanton and fucking perfect. Kyle groans, drops his head onto William’s chest as he feels his dick react, growing harder against William’s ass. 

“Fuck, baby,” Kyle groans, genuine, and grinds up against him, “the things that you do to me.”

William keens, buries his face in Kyle’s neck to muffle it. He doesn’t stop, though, gets his hands between them so he can tug at Kyle’s shirt, frantically undoing the top buttons. Kyle whispers little encouragements, sweet nothings, into William’s hair. 

“Off, off,” William murmurs, pulling away so he can tug up at the collar of Kyle’s shirt. Kyle takes pity on him and moves so he can tug it all the way off himself. He lets it drop to the floor, doesn’t even look, too busy watching William, too focused on not missing a single moment of this. 

Kyle is pretty proactive, even more efficient, so when William tries to come back in to kiss some more, it’s tempting but he has a goal here. So he holds William back, ignores his noise of protest, and grabs the hem of William’s shirt before he can overthink it. William is easy for him, moves helpfully when Kyle tugs the clothing off of him. 

This time when William goes in to kiss him, Kyle lets him, and lets himself fall into it. William doesn’t so much take as he does give. It’s all passion, a hundred and ten percent passion, and Kyle would feel bad if it wasn’t how much it made him feel  _ so _ fucking good. 

He doesn’t stop William, but he gets his hands between them and somehow manages to undo his belt, the button and fly of his pants. He goes for William’s, too, and doesn’t miss the way William moans into his mouth when he realizes what he’s doing. 

“I want it so bad.” William, lips red and wet and swelling, finally pulls away once Kyle’s got his pants all the way undone. He gets his hands on Kyle’s chest, feels him up for a moment before shoving him back, so that he falls down into the bed. William gets right to work, shoving his own pants down and glaring at Kyle until he does, too.

“Alright, alright,” Kyle laughs up at him, dutifully lifting his hips and shimmying them off as William does the same. 

“Good,” William hums, content, once they’re both fully naked and he’s able to lean over Kyle and kiss him again. He’s not shy, goes right to grinding their cocks together. It’s a lot more intense, without the layers of clothing between them. William is hot and leaking all over himself, all over Kyle, too. Kyle can feel every movement, every twitch, everything that William gives away to him. 

Kyle tries not to think about it too much, lets his hands wander, tracing every jut and curve of William’s body. Might as well commit this to memory, whether a treat or a punishment to be determined at a later time. It’s easier not to think about that either, and to lose himself in it a little instead. 

William’s an athlete, he’s fit and perfect in all of the right places. His body is incredible, and Kyle is only human. It makes it easier to do this. 

“Kyle, Kyle,” William says against his skin, “don’t make me wait anymore, please.”

It’s so sweet, the way William asks him so nicely, lays his whole self out, bare like that. Just for Kyle. All for Kyle. 

_ Fuck. _

Kyle reaches up and holds William’s face in his hands, studies his face and tries not to get too hung up in his eyes, so clear and honest in his intentions, in his everything. Even still, Kyle takes a breath — lets his hands slide down over William’s arms, his chest, his sides — while he exhales. 

Then, he uses all of his strength and he flips them. 

William startles with a little  _ “oof!” _ sound, eyes wide and blinking up at him. The initial surprise is gone in a beat, William’s face breaking into a smile, a hint of mischief at the corner of his lips.  _ “Please,” _ William repeats, even more desperate this time.

It goes straight to Kyle’s dick, already leaking with how good William is for him. 

He can’t help it, with William under him like this. He goes in to kiss him, his way this time, grabs William by the chin with one hand and takes full control. He uses his other hand to get a grip on William’s cock, jerks him lazily, thumbs over his slit and smears his precome into an even bigger mess. William lets him, doesn’t rush him, lets him take and take and take. 

“Baby,” Kyle groans finally, rests his forehead on William’s, closes his eyes just to regain his composure. William lets him have his moment, ever so patient for him. “Let me get you ready, let me.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” William says quickly, wiggles underneath him. “Yes, please, yes.”

Kyle straightens up and carefully knees his way across the bed, around William, who stays where he is without prompting, automatically obedient for him. Kyle yanks open the drawer in the nightstand, retrieves the lube and the condoms he stashed there earlier. If William notices anything about it, he doesn’t say anything, and Kyle’s grateful for that.

Instead of going all the way back, Kyle settles against the headboard, sitting up. He pats his lap, jerks his head in invitation to William, who’s watching him now. It takes him a second but he gets it eventually, doesn’t drag it out when he sits up and crawls over to Kyle. 

“There we go,” Kyle hums, welcoming, when William settles in his lap again, thighs splayed over his own. He’s mindful of Kyle’s cock, scoots as close as he can get so he can wedge their cocks between them. 

Kyle gets to work quickly, circles William’s hole with a lubed up finger. William opens up easily for him, hungry for it, the muscles of his rim fluttering easily around him when he gets one, two fingers up there.

William does yelp, when Kyle starts to get impatient and slips in a third without much of a warning. Apologetically, Kyle pulls him in for a kiss, keeps his mouth and mind busy while he scissors him open. 

At some point, William manages to pull away, bites at his lip. “Now, Kyle, come on, I want you now.”

Kyle laughs, kisses William’s cheek sweet all while he fucks his fingers in and out of him, never stopping. “What do you want now?” Kyle grins, smug. 

William doesn’t blush hard, but Kyle doesn’t miss the light dusting of pink that rises at the high points along his cheekbones. It’s a triumphant moment, knowing he pulled that out of William. 

“Kyle…” William pouts.

“Hm,” Kyle counters, not budging, still waiting.

William breathes out through his nose. He ducks closer, steals a kiss, chaste and quick. “I want you to fuck me now,” William says, quiet, lips brushing against Kyle’s own. 

“Of course, baby,” Kyle says, “anything you want, of course.”

Kyle reaches for the condoms and tears one off, but William startles at the sounds, manages to pull away. He swats the packet out of Kyle’s hands and glares at him. “I want to feel you,” he explains, when Kyle stares at him.

“Will,” Kyle says carefully, “you know better.”

“I’m clean,” William rolls his eyes, “and I trust you.”

Kyle is pretty good at his poker face, so he’s fairly confident that William can’t see the dilemma that runs through his head at lightning speed. He replays William’s words in his head.  _ I trust you. _ Fuck, this kid. Sweet, naive William, trusts Kyle with this, with him, with his body. He trusts Kyle not to hurt him, not to endanger him, enough to ask Kyle to fuck him raw for fuck’s sake. 

The temptation is strong — how couldn’t it be? — when William is so good for him, so willing to trust Kyle and let him wreck him in the best — worst — possible way. Kyle almost does it, almost throws anything left of his conscious right out so he can do it.

But he thinks back to a few days ago, thinks about the ache in his knees after kneeling under Brendan’s stupid desk. Thinks about a few weeks even before that, spread out in another GM’s office, different than his own. Thinks about a few months ago, when he’d had Tavares in his office with everything on the line.

He thinks about William, who looks at him like he’s hung the moon, who so easily fell into the fantasy he’s always wanted, who begs for him so sweetly. Who  _ asked _ him to raw him.

Kyle shakes his head, firm with his answer this time. “We have to be safe,” Kyle says, as hard as it is for him to do, as hard as it is to watch the wave of disappointment, maybe even a little hurt, wash over William. 

But he can’t have that, won’t have that. He pulls William into a kiss, it’s short but deep, and William still lets him, so it can’t be all that bad. “Baby,” Kyle says when he pulls away, “I don’t want to risk anything, we have to be smart, okay?”

William clearly wants to sulk about it more, but he does his best not to let it show. It still does, but Kyle appreciates the effort. “Okay,” he acquiesces, quiet. “But in Toronto we’re getting checked and then?” He trails off, blinks at Kyle through his lashes.

“Yeah, when we’re back in Toronto,” Kyle placates, feeds the lie easily. That’ll just be a problem to solve for next time. He’ll have time to figure it out.

It’s enough for William, though, who noses at his throat, sucking lightly at Kyle’s skin, practically begging to be kissed again. It’s the least Kyle can do to give in to him. Besides, twist his arm. He lets William make out for a bit while he rolls the condom on and strokes lube onto himself. He gets a hand on William, too, who’s flagged a bit since asking to be taken bare. Kyle won’t have that, William’s pleasure is key here.

Once William’s back to fully hard and entirely needy, Kyle gets his own cock in one hand, uses his other to hold open William’s ass cheeks. 

“Mmph,” William moans into his mouth, quickly pulling away. Kyle startles but William hushes him, keeps one hand on Kyle’s shoulder for balance while he reaches behind him with the other. He helps to hold himself open, making it easier for Kyle to grind his cock up between his cheeks, catching on the rim on every pass. 

“Inside,” William demand, nearly incoherent, “now.”

Kyle laughs, even as he lines himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against William’s hole. “Yeah? You want it?”

“Please, Kyle,  _ please, _ ” William groans this time, closing his eyes. He helps it along, settling back a little, using gravity to get Kyle’s cock to finally breach him and press in. 

“Fuck, oh my—  _ fuck, _ ” Kyle yelps, not fully expecting it. William is hot and tight around him, squeezing right around his cockhead. William is panting, eyes screwed shut as he concentrates on taking him, on letting Kyle inside of him. 

“God, your cock,” William huffs, more to himself, now resting his head on Kyle’s shoulder. “You’re so big, holy shit.” 

Kyle knows for certain he’s pretty average, he has plenty of first hand research, but even that knowledge can’t take away from the rush of pleasure that William’s words give him. 

“Yeah? You think it’ll fit?” Kyle goes along with it, grinning into William’s skin. “Think your pretty little hole will take me anyway? Want me inside you so bad you’ll let me shove it in?”

William keens, a high pitched kind of noise he definitely didn’t mean to let out. But Kyle kisses his cheek, thanks him for it, thanks for being so good, just for him. “That’s it, Will, there you go. So good, baby, so good for me, for my cock.”

That’s when he manages to bottom out, William all the way down and then some, grinding down as much as he can, desperate to get as much of Kyle’s cock as possible. He looks perfect there, poised in Kyle’s lap, neglected cock leaking, stuffed as full as he can be and yet still begging for more. He’s perfect, and Kyle can barely believe it.

“Go on, baby,” Kyle says, low, nipping around William’s collarbone. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

“Kyle—”

“Work for it,” Kyle cuts him off, squeezes hard where he’s gripping his hip. He gets his clean hand in William’s hair, yanks his head back, exposing his throat. Kyle sucks wetly at it, careful not to leave a mark, but more than enough to make sure William feels it. “Be a good boy and ride my cock, Will.”

Kyle  _ feels _ William’s shaky breath in his throat, feels the way he shivers, feels the way he leans into it, turned on. 

“Okay, I— yeah,” William tries, too busy with the task at hand to make a sentence. “Okay.”

He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t try. He keeps one hand steady on Kyle’s shoulder, the other braced on the sparse space of Kyle’s thigh between then. He raises himself up with his thighs, rolls his hips into it like a pro. He goes up about halfway before dropping back down. Hard.

“Mm,” Kyle chokes off, throws his head back. “That’s it, baby, so good, your ass feels so fucking good.”

“Ky,” William swallows, strained. He goes up again, further this time, then drops down just as hard. He gasps when his thighs hit this time, the feeling much more intense. He keeps it up like, keeps it up until it’s just the tip, threatening to slip out, then back down, stuffing himself full again.

Kyle sits back and only grinds up a little to meet him, mostly lets William pace it, lets William work himself onto his cock until he’s got a hard rhythm going, hips rolling to make sure Kyle’s cock drags over his spot every time. William is losing himself in the pleasure of it, head thrown back and little noises dripping from his lips like syrup. Kyle eats them all up, easy. 

“I’m, Kyle, I—” William starts to babble, tucks his head back into the crook of Kyle’s neck.

That’s when Kyle takes his cue, gets one hand on William’s ass, keen to knead at it and use the grip as leverage. He’s quick with his other hand, collecting William’s wrists and tugging them into one hold behind his back. William yelps, and Kyle starts to fuck up into him. 

“Fuuuuck,” William stretches it out into a moan, pliant in Kyle’s holds. He lets Kyle manhandle him, lets him pull at his arms and angle him just how he wants, content to just have Kyle’s hips meet the rounds of his ass. Thankful for it, even. It drives Kyle crazy.

“I’m gonna, I wanna,” William tries to say.

He doesn’t need to, though, Kyle gets it. “You think you can come like this? Just because you’re stuffed full of cock?”

William whines, but he nods his head frantically, as affirmative as he can manage when he’s so lost in the idea of such a thing. “Please, please.”

“Yeah, alright,” Kyle pulls him into him, encourages him to let Kyle take over. He continues to fuck up into William’s body, craves to know what it feels like for William to come around him. “You’re such a slut,” Kyle murmurs, “but that’s okay. Gonna be so good for me, aren’t you? Sweet boy, so good for me, so good on my cock.”

William shakes his head where it’s buried against Kyle’s skin, William’s hot breath coming in pants right against him. That’s alright though, because Kyle can feel every hitch, every reaction, when he whispers a string of dirty things to William, shoving his cock deep inside him every single time. 

“Fuck, Kyle, fuck,” William finally groans, thrashing in his hold while he comes and comes, drenching them both in his come when it spills between them. Kyle doesn’t really notice, though, too busy savoring the feeling of William’s hole squeezing around him, going impossibly tight while Kyle continues to fuck into him. 

“Shit,” Kyle slips, his thrusts becoming frantic, desperate, as William starts to come down from his orgasm. He doesn’t make any move to get off of Kyle, doesn’t make any move to get Kyle’s cock out of him. He shakes with every thrust inside, clearly oversensitive. He bites at his lip, hard, and keeps his face against Kyle’s skin, eyes screwed shut. It can’t be that comfortable, but he makes a disagreeable noise when Kyle tries to slow it down, so he takes that for what it is. 

Kyle lets go of William’s wrists, threads his hand though William’s hair at the back of his head. He holds him to his chest, holds him close, while he keeps him in place with the hand still at his ass, spilling onto his hip. There’s going to be bruises there, he knows, and it just spurs Kyle on more. 

William whines on one particular thrust in, and that’s it, that’s all he needs. 

Kyle keeps fucking into William all through his orgasm, takes in the way William’s hole twitches around him. He spills into the condom, and doesn’t miss the way William whines at that, too. 

It’s a minute until he comes back into himself and manages to pull out, rolling William to the side to lay on the bed at the same time. He groans at the feeling of Kyle sliding out, of the tip popping out of him, leaving his hole open and puffy and red. Kyles hushes him, whispers quiet compliments that William probably doesn’t even process. 

By the time Kyle’s got them cleaned up and tucked under the blanket, William’s breathing is steady, his body relaxed. His eyes are clear. And he’s looking at Kyle like no one’s ever looked at him before. 

~

It feels like a dick move, asking William about the contract in a vulnerable moment like this.

William’s curled up around him, one leg thrown over Kyle’s, ankle hooked behind his calf. His head rests on Kyle’s chest, one arm thrown over the rest of him, holding him as close as he can, the other tucked under Kyle’s neck, fitted there like it belongs. His breathing is matched to Kyle’s, follows the rise and fall of his chest. 

Every so often, William readjusts to try to get even closer, and every time he does, Kyle feels a guilty stab in his chest. 

So it’s especially hard when he gets his hand in William’s hair to comb through it gently. It’s especially hard when he tilts his chin just enough to place soft kisses to William’s head. It’s especially hard when he nuzzles in close enough for William to feel the breath of the words on his ear when he asks him, “You’ll sign before the deadline, right? To come back to me?”

It’s especially hard when William strains to lean up and kiss him, slow and soft and every reassurance that Kyle doesn’t deserve packed into it. “Of course I will, of course, of course.” 

It’s a quiet little mantra that fades into a trail of soft little kisses on whatever square of skin William can get to without untangling himself from Kyle. 

It’s so genuine, so real and raw, and that’s what gets him.

For the first time since Kyle started all of this, he wonders just how fucked up this all really is.

How fucked up he is. 

William sighs into his neck, tugs him closer one more time. He can feel him smile against his skin. “I’m so happy you came here,” he murmurs, sleepy and so quiet it’s barely audible. 

_ Extremely _ fucked up.

~

It takes a few more personal phone calls, FaceTime calls, emoji-ridden text messages, until William actually does sign. He almost doesn’t, and honestly? A very small part of Kyle, really deep down, wishes he didn’t. Wishes that he didn’t string William along and use the emotions he had so carefully trusted Kyle with. Wishes that he didn’t have to keep the whole thing up, even still.

But it works, William signs, texts Kyle that he can’t wait to see him. Despite the churning in his stomach, it earns him a hearty pat on the back from Brendan and a few points won back from the media.

“I knew you could do it,” Brendan tells him when they leave the press conference. “I knew William would be the type to think with his dick.”

Kyle nearly objects. William didn’t think with his dick, he thought with his  _ heart, _ and that’s a million times worse. It’s nothing to be proud of, and Kyle feels sicker and sicker the more Brendan praises him.

“One down,” Brendan hums, “two more to go.”

And that’s not— Kyle swallows, he can’t do what he did to William again. He barely got through this one. He’s barely getting through it still. 

“I don’t know about that—”

“Don’t be silly,” Brendan laughs, shoves his shoulder. “Here’s a tip, I heard Marner likes it rough.”

Kyle coughs, struggles to keep his composure. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He  _ will _ keep it in mind, is the thing.

And Kyle hates himself for it already.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> \- Title is from an inspirational quote in one of Kyle’s twitter likes lol   
\- The working title was "Kyle Dubious" for the past two months and I'm pissed at The Sun for sullying it  
\- "The Rising" and the nine hours long Dubas-Shanahan first meeting are both real things that inspired this in the first place  



End file.
